


「Belonging; 歸屬」

by yuren



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Secret Santa, Suggestive Themes, Surprise!!, Timeskip Occupation Spoilers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, We Have A Bed Again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28305432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuren/pseuds/yuren
Summary: He’s coming home for the holidays.
Relationships: Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 51





	「Belonging; 歸屬」

**Author's Note:**

> [shio darling](https://shiio.tumblr.com/), 親愛的, happiest of holidays to you, baby. i hope you have a wonderfully warm and beautifully bright holiday season with all the trimming. and by trimmings, i mean winning all your mahjong games and getting an entire potluck to devour into as a celebration. it’s always a ride chatting with you because your absolute Range. politics? nana? sg food? childhood nostalgia? we still need to have a Discussion about hoozuki !! thank you for being such a sweetheart and always being so honest and easy to talk to. your energy is absolutely admirable and your personality is a warmth that your loved ones are lucky to have. hope you have the coziest of celebrations this year, and can’t wait to see you somewhere in asia soon♡♡

In a one bedroom apartment in Warsaw, Ushijima presses the call button on a recently dialled number.

It’s currently one degree Celsius, and he’s just showered after getting home from practice. The ends of his hair aren’t completed blow dried, and his shirt is clinging to his broad back a little uncomfortably. There is rice just about done in the portable Zojirushi rice cooker, and the last of his Power Curry packet is bubbling on the stovetop.

But this cannot wait.

South of Poland, in a small Parisian condo, Tendou is lounging in his red reindeer pyjamas with a cup of peppermint tea and a slice of the opera cake he’s been testing out this entire December. He’s skipping a savoury dinner tonight and tomorrow, just until Christmas Day; there are too many last minute taste tests to eat through.

Truth be told, he’s pretty sick of this chocolate, coffee, and almond combination at the moment, so when his phone rings and he sees the caller ID, he immediately lets his fork clatter onto the ceramic and reaches for the TV remote. Decreasing the volume on a French rerun of _It's a Wonderful Life_ , he accepts the call.

“Wakatoshi-kun,” he grins, tilting his head as if he’s talking to Ushijima face to face, “how have you been since I talked to you,” he pauses as if waiting for a drumroll, “last week?”

The reply from the other line has no time for fanfare.

“I’m going home.”

“Oh ho?” The grin widens. “To Japan?”

“No.”

That’s unexpectedly expected.

“I see,” Tendou kicks his feet up onto the plush ottoman and puts his phone on speaker. “So, when’re you going back?”

“Before Christmas.”

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou frowns, his own before-Christmas plans staring up at him in the form of a half-eaten cake slice, “there’s less than two days until Christmas. Even less with time zones and all.”

“I know,” the deep voice on the other end echoes. “I’m at the airport.”

Tendou is sure that even Ushijima Wakatoshi can imagine the face-splitting grin on his face. “That’s good, that’s good. So what’re you calling me for then?”

“I need a present.”

“Wakatoshi-kun, you’re already at the airport,” the chocolatier chides, fingers drawing hearts on the velvet cover of his loveseat. “There’s not much time.”

“I know,” Ushijima grumbles, “but I need one.”

“Why?” Tendou knows the answer. He just wants Ushijima to know it too.

“Because she’s my girlfriend.”

“Well.” His face falls. He can’t argue with this, but this isn’t the answer he’s looking for. “Wakatoshi-kun, think about it this way.”

“What way?”

“Well, just, think!” His high school captain really tests his articulation skills sometimes. “Why’re you suddenly going back? You said you wouldn’t last week, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.” There’s a frown in his tone.

“So why the change of heart?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Ushijima repeats, unsure of why Tendou is asking these obvious questions when he’s in dire need of a gift.

“Wakatoshi-kun.” The athlete can hear the upwards inflection in his friend’s voice — he’s annoyed. Then it lowers to something pleasant again — he’s trying to help him. “Do you miss her?”

He does.

“Yes.”

“What do you miss about her?”

Your smile.

“Her smile.”

“And?”

Your voice.

“Her voice.”

“And?”

Your everything. 

But Ushijima doesn’t want to tell Tendou this. 

“Tendou, I don’t see the point of this.”

“Just answer the question, Wakatoshi-kun.”

The silence stretches on before Tendou finally sighs. 

“Wakatoshi-kun?”

“Yeah?”

“I get it. Go home.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a small smile on both of their lips.

And it’s only when Ushijima hangs up does he realize Tendou didn’t answer his question about a gift.

But that’s okay.

Because he’s coming home for Christmas.

❆❆❆

It’s cold.

In Singapore, where it stays a cushy high-twenties all year round, it’s actually fucking cold.

Or maybe that’s just you.

It’s usually warm and humid. But right now, you swear that it’s colder than the lowest level of hell.

Kicking off your platform shoes, you throw your bag over the designated chair as you walk into your empty dorm room. Your roommate’s gone home for the holidays, and when left to your own devices, you always seem to make the worst decisions. 

You actually went to Orchard Road of all places to mope around. 

For one whole hour. On Christmas Eve. And for what? To watch all the lovey-dovey couples under the Christmas lights? Become even more miserable by seeing every couple in the country enjoy their mushy couple-ness?

It’s not even like you aren’t part of a couple.

You most definitely are, and you should be in Japan right now, like you’d been last Christmas Eve, in the arms and lap of the other half of your couple-ness as you attempt to show him how to fold the dumpling dough around the filling. Your blistered, exam-battered hands should be over his rough ones, guiding his movements to make a hopefully edible dinner because your cooking isn’t that stellar either.

Though he’d still eat it every single questionable bite of it because Ushijima doesn’t waste love.

But this year, he doesn’t even have to debate whether the filling is cooked or not.

Because he’s not fucking here.

To his credit, he had offered to come back but you only shook your head. It’s an important exhibition game, and you of all people know firsthand how crucial this first year is for him on the international stage.

_“Once I cancel, that’ll be it.”_

_“Yeah, Toshi, I’ll be fine.”_

But you aren’t.

On Christmas Eve, you’re dumping water into the boiler for instant _tteokbokki_.

Ushijima would’ve told you to shower first while he makes you two a nutritious meal. He’d always put your health and your comfort first. 

He would’ve scolded you for rereading _Nana_ this past week. He never knows what to do when you’re crying, even over a manga.

He would’ve also probably stared at the pyjamas in your arms right now, the ones you’ve been wearing for two weeks straight. 

Actually, you wouldn’t even be in such a situation. You’d have a fresh supply everyday. From his closet.

With a sigh, you drag your feet to the bathroom, passing by the mahjong table in your hallway. Your friends always keep the questionable stuff in your room whenever the holidays arrive. The cleaning aunties have somehow become your responsibility, even during the winter holidays, and the green tabletop only reminds you further of how the people who are supposed to be here aren’t.

You did try to teach him mahjong, you really did, but even his poker face can’t save his straightforward tactics.

As you lather up your hair, the water pressure disappointing as always, you hope that the scalding temperature will wash away this negativity.

You understand him. Of course you do. That’s how the two of you have lasted this long.

He made sure to ask you three times, and you heard the gratitude when you told him to forfeit the ticket.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t mope around about it.

You shut off the water.

He cares; he really does. 

You’re a lonely, lucky one.

The reflection in the mirror frowns. And you sigh. Your damp pastel locks crescent with your tone. It’s rather static, a little underwhelming for Christmas. 

It’s alright, you try to force a smile onto the reflection. You’ll see him next break.

Right now, you’re going to jump into bed and rip open the bag of salted-egg chips while dinner cooks.

And then you’re going to load _Mugen Train_ so you can cry.

Again.

Maybe watching _Hoozuki no Reitetsu_ is a better idea, you muse, lying in bed, dipping your hand into the chip bag, waiting for the last minute of _tteokbokki_ to finish cooking, hearing the alerts for the server — you should let them know you’re alive soon, and listening to the gentle creaking of the door slip close.

“I’m home.”

“Welcome ho— What the fuck.” You jump at the hulking figure at your doorway who’s casually standing there like there’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary with his presence.

“Language.”

“What the actual fuck.”

Ushijima sighs as he puts his duffle back next to the mahjong table. Shrugging off his jersey jacket, he gives you a stern look. “Language. And you forgot to lock the door again.”

You look away sheepishly before clearing your throat.

“What the actual heck?” You try again.

“Better,” he nods, taking a step forward.

He’s there, or maybe he’s not. Maybe this time, you’ve finally, actually, genuinely lost your bearings. Because he — your boyfriend; the one who’s busy being a rookie superstar in Poland; the one who you’ve stupidly, sincerely told to put his passion and career before you — is here, looking like he owns this place — he should — and looking at you like he’s supposed to be here.

Which he is.

You shake your head.

No, he’s not.

“Don’t move!” You scramble up with both arms out, looking at him, around him, through him as you try to make sense of all this. “What the fu— heck are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in bed, resting before your game tomorrow.”

He only looks at you with that stupidly attractive head tilt of his, a blank look on his face.

“You know, in Poland,” you add on for good measure, in case he forgot.

The man fucking chuckles like this is funny.

But, fuck if that isn’t the most attractive thing you’ve seen. Even if you’re imagining things.

“This isn’t the reaction I was expecting.” He takes a slow step forward.

His lips curve ever so slightly into that confused but happy smile that always has you wanting to kiss and devour to make yours forever.

“So, you’re real.”

A step, his grin widens.

“I am.”

“And you’re here.”

Another step, and his lips stretch further.

“I am.”

He stops right in front of you, a steady smile on his lips, a curious glint in his eyes. You smell him, all of him, overwhelming all your senses even when he’s not even touching you. Ushijima cups your cheeks in his large, calloused hands, which are always a tad too warm, and leans in.

“If you’re real,” you whisper, hoping to god that he still likes the smell of salted egg, “then tell me what shirt I’m wearing right now.”

You can feel the smile in his voice. “My favourite.”

Ah.

A short, sharp, unidentifiable noise escapes you. Ushijima concludes that it’s a positive sound.

It’s the shirt you borrowed indefinitely after the first “I love you.” It’s the one that no longer fits him but hangs on you breezily, skimming your mid thighs, dropping past your shoulders. It’s his oldest and comfiest shirt, his favourite on him, his favourite on you — white jersey, purple accents, and underscored “1” front and back.

“Toshi.”

You can barely speak; there are too many bubbles rapidly propagating in your throat.

“Yes?” His voice is calm as ever but you see the amusement in his crinkled eyes.

His right hand shifts down until it’s resting comfortably on your lower back, right beneath the “1″. 

“Hi,” you grin like an idiot, finally saying a proper hello.

The low chuckles resonate from his chest to yours as he suddenly, gently tugs you into him, closing the gap.

“Hello, my love,” and then he’s pressing his lips to yours.

There’s a slow, comfortable urgency to his movements. He’s not rushed, but he’s been waiting for this for a long while.

Oh hell, you’ve been too.

You grip his shirt tightly as you return the kiss. The cotton is piling just a little underneath your touch, and you make a mental note to borrow this one too.

When he pulls away, hand still cradling your body as he looks down at you with softened eyes, you smile. Letting your weight fall back — he’ll catch you should you fall — you lead him to the edge of your bed.

He switches your positions so he’s sitting on the mattress and you’re sitting on him, grinning up as you take his left hand in yours.

“Did you plan all this?” You mused, playing with each finger. There are even more calluses than six months ago, and you frown when you see the newly healed scars from his harsh training.

Ushijima speaks into your forehead as he peppers small kisses onto the freshly washed skin. “Plan what?”

“Telling me that you’re not coming back,” you start, “then have me go emo for a few days,” you’re frowning now, “then you _do_ come back,” you pull back, “and then have me go emo again.”

The glare you shoot him has no malice in it. It doesn’t really matter though since Ushijima’s always been more affected by your pouts anyways.

“You’re always ‘emo’,” he replies, leaning forward to kiss your skin again.

You pull farther back.

“That’s not the point, Toshi.” You’re both aware that your voice is rising at the moment. “The point is—”

Your indignation trails off into a pout as you see the confused tilt of his head.

_What even is the point?_

Watching every little movement on your face, Ushijima stays silent.

 _“What do you miss about her?”_ Tendou had asked.

You know that he loves you. He’s also got your triple reassurance that he didn’t need to be here.

But he misses you.

“I wanted to come home.”

Everything about you.

“Oh.”

And he wants to come home for Christmas. 

He has something important to give you.

“And I want to give this to you.”

You watch him reach into his trouser pocket and pull out a small blue box. He looks down at it with a small frown, thinking for a second, before reorienting the box in his wide palm. Once he unlatches the mechanisms, you both watch the box fall open.

With a small satisfied sigh, Ushijima looks up at you as the ring sits there on the plush velvet cushion in all its glory.

“This is for you,” he states simply.

You have to laugh.

“I’d be concerned if it wasn’t,” you tease, “but uh, it’s a ring.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He nods.

“It’s for you, and it’s a ring.”

“It’s a ring,” you squint at the silver cursive on the box, “from Chaumet.”

That’s where you saw a fucking proposal earlier this evening. Trying to quell the sudden hammering of your heart, you take a slow breath in, staring up at him one second and looking back down at the ring the other.

“Chaumet, Toshi,” you repeat dumbly. “A ring from Chaumet.”

“I believe so,” he frowns, brows furrowed as he tries to remember. “Tendou brought me to this shop when I told him I wanted to buy a ring. It was a pretty big store.”

“You told him you wanted to buy a ring?”

“Yes.”

“When was this?”

“Last Christmas.”

“You bought a ring for me last Christmas?”

“No, I bought it after Christmas,” he explains, “when I had a layover in Paris.”

“You’ve kept this ring for almost a year, Wakatoshi?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because I wasn’t with you,” he states, as if that was the most obvious thing. 

“That’s not what—” Deep breath. “Why did you buy me a ring last year?”

“Because I know I’ll love you.”

He stares at you passively as the hammering in your heart turns into a fucking power drills. What the fuck. 

“Is this a proposal?” Your voice is probably either really loud or really soft right now. “Is this an actual proposal? I’m in fucking college, Toshi.”

“No, not a proposal yet.” He rests a hand on your back, tracing over your shoulder blades. “This is a Christmas present.”

“A Christmas present you bought last year.” You look at him completely bewildered. “Really, Wakatoshi?”

“Yes, really,” he blinks, tilting his head as he considers something. “Do you want to get married now?”

Oh my fucking god.

“No?” You’re yelling by now. “I mean, I can’t even keep a good sleep schedule right now for heck’s sake.”

“That’s what I thought,” he nods assertively to himself, a huff coming out from his chest. “I’ll propose after you graduate.”

You can only stare at him, jaw slacked and completely immobile as you watch him take the ring out of the case.

“So you do plan on marrying me?”

“Yes,” he replies simply. “Do you?”

His eyes are still and there’s a slight, almost negligible curve in his lips. But with Ushijima, no expression should unnoticed. And when you return his smile with a slowly expanding one of your own, he pulls you into him again, and you let yourself relax into his hold again.

“Marrying you?” You smile, innocently. “It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

You try to keep a straight face as you blurt out the next line.

“Whether we can still engage in premarital activities before the wedding,” you laugh, grinning up at him.

“Love.”

“Yes, Toshi?” You bat your eyelashes at him.

With the darkening look on his face, you can’t tell if he’s angry or _angry_ right now. Either way, you’re perfectly okay with it.

“Come closer.”

You obediently shuffle closer. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see the _tteobokki_. 

“Hand.”

And you hold it up. Instant rice cake and crying over anime is probably off the table now.

Ushijima takes your hand with the utmost concentration, and slips the ring onto your finger. It’s a snug fit.

Looking back at you, he brings his face right up to your own. His lips ghosting yours, his eyes flickering down before looking back up into yours, he gives the smallest of smiles and a puff of laughter...

“Merry Christmas.”

...before crushing them onto yours.


End file.
